Where You Lay Your Head
by Joon
Summary: Mortality brings more problems than anticipated. TVverse
1. Chapter 1

Despite how it might seem, this isn't really related to my Trickster AU series. Technically this got conceived and written before that other series ended and I never intended this to be a follow up. Careful readers will probably note the glaring continuity error if I had intended this to be a follow up to Trickster Makes the World. Familiarity with the AU series is definitely NOT required. This is just a story in of itself.

* * *

For Harry, it began with a broken glass.

The wizard hadn't been so naïve as to believe that it would be easy for Bob. The former ghost had spent the last 7 centuries being incorporeal. Being tangible would take some getting used to and unfortunately for the necromancer, there wasn't anyone who could give him pointers as to how one should re-orient themselves with the senses after such a long hiatus.

The incident with the copied Justin Morningway had given Bob a small preview to corporeality. But the ghost back then had barely paid attention to the world around him, knowing it would only be brief. Knowing he would be giving it up in less than a day for Harry's sake.

But this was different. This was permanent.

To Harry's increasing worry, Bob hadn't dived back into the world with the confidence the wizard associated so well with his former teacher. Instead, he had hedged, letting the world and its sensations come at him whether he liked it or not. Every now and again, Bob mentioned with a contained strain how loud everything seemed to be. How bright the light shined and how heavy his body seemed to feel at times.

The apartment was getting to him the most. For the first few days, Bob had collected a number of bruises, bumping a shoulder against the doorway or banging a leg into a chair. The place where he had resided for the past several years was both so familiar and yet so foreign to him in this new existence as a human. Were the hallways really this narrow? Had there really been so many tables crowding the storefront?

The former ghost had taken to spending most of his time in the lab, re-working old spells, amidst the quiet and stillness of the small, familiar space. Whenever Harry walked into the area, he'd find him hunched over the long table, poring over sheets of paper, the usage of floating golden writings now lost. And almost always, sitting on a pile of books, would be the skull. Now just an useless artifact, but always present as a reminder. Harry had spied Bob one day, lost in his thoughts, his hand pressing against the engraved, ancient bones. The wizard wondered if Bob got some strange sense of comfort from having the skull nearby. It worried him more to consider that somehow Bob might actually miss being able to vanish back into the bony prison.

Despite his own uneasiness at the state of things, Harry faced every grimace or frustrated sigh from the necromancer with an assuring smile, grappling for the flippant casualness that was the norm between them. "Relax. You just have to get used to things," the wizard repeated, the picture of calm and stability.

And then Bob dropped the glass.

Specifically, a shattered glass did nothing to bother Harry, who tended to break and smash things all the time. While Bob softly cursed his own mistake, the wizard waved it off as no big deal, going to get a towel to clean up the floor. He did not see the pale fingers that reached toward the glass pieces to gather them and only realized it after he returned to find Bob staring at his own hand.

A shard had sliced into the necromancer's index finger. The cut wasn't deep, but it did run down nearly the entire length of the digit, drawing blood. A drop of the dark red liquid, physical evidence of the life that now rushed inside the former ghost, lazily slid down onto his palm. Bob gazed at the stain and felt the softly throbbing pain of the cut with some fascination.

Harry, on the other hand, had a silent panic attack.

The small wound was dealt with by some anti-bacterial cream and a bandage within five minutes. But the event started a train of thought in the wizard that spiraled out of control. He'd never seen Bob bleed before. He'd never seen Bob injured before. Granted, the injury was miniscule, but it hammered home for Harry that it was now possible for something to hurt the former ghost. If a knife or a sword were to come down on him now, it wouldn't pass through the form, no harm done.

Almost instantly, Harry's mind began to conjure up all the varying ways that a person could be killed, his old teacher now completely vulnerable to each and every possibility. The wizard's didn't just leave it at weapons or wayward attacks. There were things like diseases and accidents in the home that could be just as fatal.

Bob was now alive. And therefore, he could die.

* * *

It had been a faint twinge at first, but over the days had grown into a dull ache. It reminded Bob of the time he'd returned from the Darkness and had felt his curse re-establish itself inside of him, greedily grasping onto his soul. This phantom pain he felt now seemed to be a cousin to it. It left him feeling displaced, uneasy.

In the privacy of the lab and away from Harry's failed attempts at surreptitiously watching over him, the necromancer had run a few diagnostic spells on himself. There was nothing physically wrong with him. And there was no trace of magic within him that shouldn't be there. It seemed whatever was wrong was all in his mind.

_  
A magical psychosomatic pain, _he mused humorlessly, staring at the mixture that had indicated he was perfectly fine. But despite the issued clean bill of health, the former ghost felt drained. Nearly ill. And the mounting frustration he was beginning to feel around Harry wasn't helping matters.

The fact that the wizard had all but child-proofed the entire house yesterday had been the final straw. Adding onto this ridiculous action, Harry had behaved as if nothing was different about the place.

"I just cleaned up," Harry had remarked against the accusatory look Bob had given him. "What? I thought you'd be happy about it. You're always on my case about this place being a mess."

"And why are all the knives missing?"

"They're not missing. I just rearranged a few things. What do you need?"

"A knife to cut the Tallis roots."

"I'll do it."

"Harry-"

"I'll do it," Harry had insisted, already brandishing the tool. "How many?"

Bob had sighed resignedly, too tired to continue arguing about it.

The necromancer rubbed a hand over his eyes, blinking against the graininess. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was long past midnight. He set aside the used bowl and snuffed out the flame he'd heated the potion on. He supposed he should be grateful Harry hadn't commandeered the matches as well. As he re-shelved the leftover ingredients, Bob eyed the bandage that still wrapped his finger. He knew Harry was simply concerned and going overboard about it. While the idea of his former student caring about him so much was endearing, it only added onto the guilt the necromancer had been feeling.

He was useless to Harry the way he was now; unable to even walk across the storefront without nearly tripping, wincing at the slightest exterior noise from a very loud city, hiding in this lab. This place that had been his home for so long felt alien to him now. Other than having to just reorient himself to the apartment as a human, Bob felt out of place and anxious about even being here. It couldn't continue like this. It couldn't last without either he or Harry having some sort of break. Sitting dejectedly back on the stool by the lab's workbench, Bob traded a long stare with his now empty skull that sat by his elbow. It always grinned at him, sometimes mockingly, but sometimes secretively, as if trying to impart some secret. Right now, it had its secretive smile on.

"I must repair…whatever is happening," Bob muttered, picking up the skull. Unlike the last time he'd held it, back when he'd been given a time-limited taste at life courtesy of Justin Morningway, the skull hummed with a certain energy. He knew that Harry didn't feel it whenever the wizard picked it up to move it out of the way. Whatever he felt, he felt it alone. Bob wondered if it was related to the unaccountable ache that doggedly followed him.

Pulling in and releasing a long breath, the necromancer closed his eyes, his fingers still wrapped around the marked bones. Sometimes when he concentrated and focused the threads of his own magic toward the skull, he could get a small, indecipherable sense of peace. Something akin to the pleasure one felt when recalling a happy memory. Desperation at his lack of progress prompted Bob to center himself toward the bones all the more at the moment. Whatever ailment he felt, it wasn't affecting his ability to wield the power that had been returned to him along with his mortality.

While the energy rippled around the decorated skull, Bob could feel the beginnings of the emotional balm running over the phantom pain. As he delved deeper into the sensation, he thought he felt a breeze against his face. With every once of control, he kept his eyes shut, not ignoring the sensation, but refusing to break his concentration. Again, a cold gust of air brushed against his face, bringing with it a scent that suddenly did bring back a very vivid memory.

For a moment, he could feel the wet ground under his feet, the rain trailing cold rivulets down his neck. The flush of pleasure at the idea of a warm fire, already waiting for him inside the cottage. And the sound of creaking wood as the door of the cottage opened. His mind got up to almost seeing her standing at the entrance, smiling invitingly at him to enter their home, when he abruptly opened his eyes to cut off the memory.

The necromancer released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Looking back down at the skull in his hands, he saw it appeared the same as before, its teeth laid bare. But strangely, it didn't look to be grinning at him. It looked expectant, even yearning.

"I see," he said, quietly.

Settling the skull back down on the table, Bob pulled out a clean bowl to work with and re-lit the burner.


	2. Chapter 2

While the note had been left in plain sight on the neatly cleared off work bench, in his blind panic, Harry missed it the first time he'd paced around the lab. The wizard had woken up to find that while the door to the apartment was still locked from the inside with all the windows also being locked and secured, Bob had disappeared along with the skull. Harry uselessly covered every inch of the apartment, illogically thinking that the former ghost was somehow hiding himself from him. But finally in his second sweep of the lab, he saw the sheet of paper that was sitting, anchored by an unused crystal.

_Harry,  
I've had to go to England to attend to an important matter.  
I apologize for the abrupt exit.  
Do not be concerned.  
_

The note was unsigned, no doubt the author of it knowing Harry would be able to deduce who it was from. The wizard stared at the brief letter that could have fit easily on a post-it had he kept any around. After re-reading it over more times than was probably necessary, Harry shoved the piece of paper into his pocket. Jaw clenched in a painful lock, he snatched up the crystal that had been weighing it down and gathered up the rest of what he needed before leaving the lab. Grabbing the weathered knapsack he hadn't used since Bob had been made corporeal, Harry stuffed the items in as he walked to the storefront. From there he called an airline.

A handful of hours later, Harry was on a plane bound for the United Kingdom.

To pass the time on the flight, the wizard silently rehearsed all the different things he'd say to the errant necromancer, not caring that each speech was more hysterical and incensed than the one before. By the time they landed, he had several versions that concluded with him threatening to kick Bob's ass all the way back to the States.

* * *

It took a train and then a taxi ride with a driver who did his best not to stare too much at Harry when the wizard gave him directions while staring intently at a crystal dangling from a leather cord. He only politely took his money, muttering a low "nutter" before leaving Harry as requested, just outside of the small village which boasted a population just meeting the 800 mark. England was having an unusually sunny afternoon. A pleasant breeze drifted through the grass and trees of the little parish, adding to the idyllic landscape. Harry supposed at another time he might enjoy the scenery, but at the moment, he was focused on finding Bob and then quite possibly killing him.

The crystal in his hand was now glowing a little stronger, directing the wizard toward a wooded area that stood just at the edge of the village. As he got closer and the crystal grew brighter, Harry pushed it back into his pocket and marched on. Unlike the woods he was normally used to thanks to the neatly ordered foliage found in Chicago's parks, the nature around him now was thick and decidedly wild.

The trees sprang up from the ground, tall and growing every which way they chose because no human hands were dictating otherwise. Harry's very city sensibilities that relied on the comforts of concrete and straight lines faltered as the wizard tripped and stumbled over roots and fallen branches. Finally, after nearing ending up on his face thanks to a well-hidden rock, Harry found himself in an open field. Or what he thought was an open field.

Upon looking again, the wizard saw it was less of a natural meadow and more of a wide area where nothing was growing. The grass under his feet from earlier and the trees crowding around him had given way to dry dirt, a few large rocks and nothing else. The decimation of the area didn't feel recent, however, judging by how well-seated the boulders looked. It seemed something had leveled off the section at a large circle a long time ago and nothing had bothered to grow back. Harry felt the magic pulsating in the crystal inside his pocket abruptly wink out, indicating he'd found his target. Sure enough, standing a few feet away from him was Bob.

The necromancer was standing with his back to him in the middle of the open dead land, staring at the set of woods that continued on a few yards ahead of him. His pose was identical to the one he often used to hold when staring at a set of equations he'd scribbled in the air, back when he'd been a ghost. Seeing the familiar figure, Harry's mix of relief and anger got stalled by the overwhelming sense that he couldn't continue walking on unless he was invited to do so. As if he'd be trespassing if he didn't receive permission first. Not knowing how it was Bob missed his rather noisy entrance, Harry loudly cleared his throat.

Bob turned immediately the sound, looking startled. In one hand he held his skull. "Harry?"

"Hi," Harry returned, flatly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I woke up this morning and you'd disappeared. I followed you." He pulled out the used crystal from his pocket and held it up as evidence.

Sensing the wizard's hesitation, Bob lifted an arm and gestured for him to come over. "Why didn't you wai-"

"A NOTE?!" Harry shouted, taking the invitation and crossing the distance in four large strides. "I wake up, you're gone and you leave a NOTE?" The wizard waved the now creased slip of paper in the former ghost's face. "You don't talk to me for almost a week and then you just go and all you've got to say you put in a NOTE?!"

Bob blinked at the explosion and took a step back to avoid Harry nearly whacking him in the face with the paper. "I intended on coming back…" he defended.

"Really?" asked Harry, his anger not lessening. "Because I didn't see that written anywhere on here. Or maybe I missed it since the note was all of three lines." The wizard made a show of staring at the letter again. "Wait….nope. Not on here!" He shoved the paper back at Bob, who finally snatched it out of his hand.

"Yes, I understand, you're angry with me-"

"That's not even scraping the surface," the wizard seethed. He grabbed the note back as if holding it gave him supportive evidence at just how guilty the necromancer was at deserving a rant. "If you wanted to come to England so much, why didn't you just tell me?" he demanded.

Bob lifted an eyebrow. "And risk you sealing the doors?"

"I wouldn't have done that!" the wizard protested.

"Harry, you child-proofed the entire house. You haven't allowed me to use a knife in the past week. I hardly would have believed you'd allow me to travel across the Atlantic."

"If you'd told me how important it was to you, I would have let you go," Harry replied, coldly.

Seeing the hurt expression in the dark eyes, Bob felt a spike of guilt. "You're right," he acknowledged, regretfully. "I should have told you. I apologize."

The short, but sincere display of remorse deflated most of the anger out of Harry, despite him not quite willing to let go of it just yet. But he'd never been one to be able to keep ranting when the target was so obviously sorry and meant it. Instead, he gruffly shoved the note back into his pocket. "How'd you get here anyway?" he asked. "You don't even have a passport."

"I used a transportation spell," said Bob, surprised that Harry hadn't already figured that out. "Did you actually take a plane here?"

"What else would I use?" snapped Harry. "I don't know a transportation spell strong enough. I mess up and I'm in the ocean."

"I showed you the formula last month." The necromancer sighed. "Weren't you paying any attention to what I was saying?"

"Hey, who's criticizing who around here?" Harry demanded.

"Yes, alright. Sorry," Bob relented.

The wizard crossed his arms, doing a good job of still looking annoyed, having learned from the best. But finally he gave in with a muttered. "Fine, apology accepted."

A slightly awkward silence followed as the two wizards continued to stare at each other for a moment. Now that most of his frustration had been vented, Harry was able to look at Bob with a clearer eye and see the change that had come over the former ghost. It hadn't escaped the wizard that in the time of becoming mortal, Bob had grown more tense and stiff. But now, here in the woods of all places, surrounded by dirt that stuck to his shoes and leaves that stuck to his clothes, Bob looked remarkably relaxed. Settled. At home.

"Were you really going to come back?" Harry blurted out suddenly.

A look flashed across Bob's face. It was brief, but Harry caught it and realized that the former ghost had considered the alternative. At least since he'd arrived. But as quickly as it came, it was gone and the necromancer turned to walk past him, still clutching his skull.

"I only came to perform one task," said Bob.

"An important matter?" Harry quoted from the note.

"Yes. It wasn't supposed to take long. I actually thought I'd be able to come back before you'd noticed only…I seemed to have lost track of the time…" he trailed off. The necromancer continued to view their surroundings. "You know, centuries have passed since I was here," he mused. "And yet I recognize it. All of it. It all feels the same." He turned to gesture toward a space behind Harry's shoulder. "The house was there. It was small, even by the standards back then. I could have built upon it, but my brother would only give it to me if I swore not to alter a stone," he recalled. A slight smile curved onto Bob's face at the memory.

Of all the information that had just been casually delivered to him, Harry's mind centered down on one thing. "You have a brother?" he asked in a voice a lot louder than he'd intended. "How come you never told me?"

"Well, he's long gone now, Harry," Bob replied, looking a little puzzled at the question.

"I wasn't asking so that we could have him over for dinner, Bob," said Harry. "I just mean….I've known you for over twenty years and I'm learning just now that you had a brother?"

The former ghost only shrugged. "It didn't seem very relevant," he replied, crouching down, his attention already moving away from Harry's question. His eyes focused instead on the ground in front of him and the wizard let go of prodding further into the matter for now, though he made a mental note to pick it up later. He watched at a respectful distance as Bob pressed a hand onto the dirt. "I lived here," he murmured, softly enough to himself that Harry had to strain to hear. "We lived here."

Without asking, the wizard also guessed that this was where she'd been brought back. He took his eyes off Bob to scan the area again. It would explain the absence of growth around the area. It seemed life had refused to come back to a place where it had once been forced back. When he turned his attention back to the crouching necromancer, he saw the relaxed, near peaceful expression on Bob's face as the former ghost closed his eyes, breathing contently. The thought came again to Harry that perhaps this was where Bob belonged. But before he could work up the nerve to ask, half dreading the answer, the necromancer opened his eyes with a decisive look.

"Here, I think," he declared.

"Here?" Harry repeated, fearing what that meant.

Looking over, Bob nodded. "I came to bury my skull."

The wizard blinked for a moment. "You…came all the way here to bury your skull?"

"I had to, Harry," replied Bob. "This is where it belongs."

In truth, the skull had all but asked Bob to finally bring it here. The small bursts of comfort it had been able to give the former ghost had been less for pure comfort, but more an enticement. A message, letting him know that his old life needed a final resting place before his new one could begin. And its place was where Hrothbert of Bainbridge had lived and died.

Without further elaboration, the necromancer carefully placed the skull on the ground before using both hands to start digging. After a few moments of watching, Harry walked over. "Want some help?" he offered.

"If you'd be so kind."

It took about half an hour to make a hole large enough. By the time they were finished, dirt caked both men's hands, though neither, not even the normally fastidious necromancer seemed to mind. Instead, he placed the ancient skull inside and slid the mound of dirt over it with little pause or ceremony. Standing back up, Bob lightly clapped the soil off his hands, not commenting on the fact that Harry wiped his against the side of his jacket. "Thank you," he said instead.

"Sure," Harry nodded. "Are you…" he searched for the right word. "Done?" he asked, mentally rolling his eyes at himself. It wasn't exactly the right word, but Bob seemed to interpret it well enough.

"Yes, I believe I am."

"Are you sure?" Harry began and then forced himself to continue. "You don't want to maybe stick around here?" When Bob looked at him, the wizard attempted not to look too nervous, but had a feeling he was failing when he saw the slightly soft expression on the necromancer's face. "It's just…I know you haven't been feeling all that well and you look kind of happy here so maybe-"

"If it's all the same to you, Harry," Bob interrupted. "I'd rather like to go home."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

They walked a little away from the clearing. Harry stumbling over a dead branch, prompting Bob to grasp onto his arm to prevent a mishap. Feeling the supporting hand, the wizard cleared his throat. "Listen, Bob. I'm sorry about all the…precautions I did in the last few days. I know I kind of went…"

"Insane?" Bob suggested.

"Overboard," Harry decided. "I just never really thought about what it meant," he said, glancing at the former ghost's bandaged finger. "That something could happen to you and I wouldn't be able to do anything."

"It takes some time for one to get used to that," said the necromancer. "It isn't pleasant, but then I always tried to trust in the idea that you could take care of yourself."

"Yeah, I guess you'd know that feeling," Harry smiled, sheepishly. "I'll try."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Once they reached the edge of the clearing, Bob cast one last look at the area. His eyes outlined the cottage that had once stood there and he could faintly hear the soft footsteps of a once very flawed sorcerer as he entered through where she'd been waiting for him. There was a soft thump as the door closed behind him. Hearing it, Bob felt an overwhelming sense of ease.

"Your spell strong enough to get us both back?" he heard Harry's voice break into his thoughts. "I don't have enough cash to get another ticket back."

Bob looked away from the area to fix Harry with a look. "Of course," he stated. "As you would know if you'd paid attention a month ago."

"I know, I get it."

"It would have saved you a considerable amount of money."

"I'm sorry, I'll pay attention this time when you do it," Harry assured. "Oh, and sorry about the shirt," he added.

"Shirt?"

"Yeah, I kind of tore up one of yours to use for the tracking spell to find you."

The necromancer seemed to pale to a shade he'd often sported as a ghost. "Which one?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "It was a shirt. I think it had stripes on it?"

"And you tore it up?" Bob demanded. "A button would have sufficed."

"I wasn't thinking clearly," Harry half lied, distinctly recalling the satisfaction he'd felt when he'd ripped at the clothing, taking his frustrations out on it. He saw the necromancer taking a measured breath. "I'll buy you a new one."

"With the money you no longer have after purchasing an overpriced plane ticket?"

"First case we get, you get a new shirt," Harry offered.

Bob sighed. "Never mind. Shall we go?"

Feeling the magic rising around them as the necromancer readied to pronounce the spell, Harry got a good grip on Bob's shoulder to prepare. "You're not going to drop me in the ocean, are you?" he asked. While it was a joke, Bob noted the slight glaze of fear in his former student's face and grinned, evilly.

"No promises."

"Funny. A riot."

The sound of chuckling floated through the clearing as a strong gust of wind moved through. When the trees ceased to rustle at the breeze, the two wizards were gone.

THE END


End file.
